Friendship and Table Building

Once upon a time there were two little boys.  Each little boy was born into a family with two older sisters.  The boys wouldn't meet each other until they were teenagers.  But when they met they became the best of friends.  They claimed each other as the brother neither one had.

The boys could be found doing all kinds of macho stuff together.  

Fishing.

Camping.

Four wheeling.

Things they never told their moms that they did.

They grew into men and served as each other's best man on their wedding days.  One is now a father to (almost) three precious babies.  One is now a father to a neurotic dog.  They are still the best of friends.

The kind of friends who text each other unsavory pictures.  The kind of friends who pick up right where they left off even if it's been months since they've seen each other.  The kind of friends who love each other deeply even if that doesn't sound manly.

Meet Travis and Jamie.

Travis is my baby brother.  And Jamie is the brother Travis never had.  They are both fantastic men and I'm so proud of them.

Back in March my sister and I visited Travis and Nell in Atlanta.  While we were there I admired their dinning room table.  Travis offered to build one for me.  Said he'd build it when he and Nell came for a visit this summer.  I said I'd love that.

Fast forward to May.  I hit up Pintrest pretty hard and create a board called "Things for Travis to Build".  Travis hits up Jamie for help in building my table.

Fast forward to June.  Travis and Nell come home to visit.  One day, Travis and I leave my kids with Tiana and Nell and make a run to Home Depot.  Even tho I have 0 building skills I love this store.  I love wandering the aisles imaging what could become of the boards, the doors, the windows, the sinks, the paint, the light fixtures.  So many possibilities.

Travis teaches me how to eye a board to see if it's straight.  We eye boards and lay them out on the floor.  Travis sends Jamie exactly one million texts.  We find screws, wood glue, stain.  I learn that there is a part of a table called 'the apron'.  Travis does math to keep track of how much I am spending.  And then I bring all the wood home and pile it in my garage.

I paint the pieces for the apron red because that is what I think I want.  Travis doesn't agree and uses the red pieces for the underside of the table.

I get texts on the progress of the table.  All the wood has moved to Jamie's house and construction is happening.

And then, Jamie tries it out.

Yup, that'll work.

Larry loads it up and brings it home for me.  We eat our first meal on our almost finished table.  

The table legs and apron need painted.  And I want "new" chairs.   What I actually want is old mismatched chairs that I'll paint.  So my mom and I go to The Lucky Dog thrift store in New Holland.  If you have several hours and no kids to bring along this is a super fun place to spend the afternoon.  So.Much.Junk.

I really love it.

We found 5 chairs and a bench which is exactly what I wanted.  I also found a patio chair, a soup pot, and a dress.  I said at the beginning of the year that I wasn't going to buy myself any clothes this year.  I have no justification for this purchase except that it was just so cute I couldn't pass it up.

Ahem.  Back to my chairs.

This is what they looked like when I brought them home.  I wondered about the history of each.  How did they end up in the junk store?  Who all has sat on them?  What stories would they tell if they could talk?

I started painting.  With a really cute helper.

Pretty soon we were both covered in paint.  Turns out I can't do anything neatly.

I painted late one night.  As I painted someone joined me.

I wasn't impressed.  Not even a little.

Because of my two 'helpers' (and let's admit it, my glaring lack of neat skills) my chairs are far from perfect.  If you look closely you will see dried paint runs from the Four Year Old.  If you look closer you will see dog fur stuck in the paint from the Lab.  You don't even have to look all that closely at all to see spots missed by Me.

But you know what?

I love it that way.  My chairs are far from perfect.  But so are the people that sit on them.  We've all got stories to tell.  Some funny. Some sad.  Some utterly delightful.  Some that will make you want to put your fist thru a wall.  Some about redemption and healing.

As I painted I thought a lot about life.  About relationships.  About how beautiful things take effort.

I painted coat after coat on those chairs.  And the more time and effort I spent on them, the more I loved them.  Some of them were complicated.  There were rungs and spindles and beautifully carved legs.  Some of them were simple.  Straight lines, no fuss.

Just like people, right?

And then there was the bench.  It was raw lumber and it was thirsty.  I mean, it just soaked up the primer.  And then the second coat of primer.  And then the first coat of paint.  And then the second coat of paint.  And quite honestly it should have probably had a third coat of paint but I was ready to be done and also out of time.

After the first coat of paint I was feeling a little bummed and wondering if I should throw in the towel.  It was streaky and drying weird.

And then I started to think.  What if after my "first coat" Jesus thought I was streaky and weird and he gave up on me?

When I first meet someone, should I give up on them because I think they are streaky and weird?

In my established relationships, when there is a snag or a pothole, should I give up because things are getting streaky and weird?

Or should I square my shoulders and dip the brush and start a second coat?

With each brush stroke the colors deepen, the streaks blend together.  It's still not perfect.  But it adds depth and color and vibrancy.

Last summer Jesus taught me about life with a jacked up cake.  This summer it's a life lesson taught with paint.

Don't give up too soon.  Keep painting.  Keep putting in time and effort.  Appreciate the simple.  Learn to love the complicated.  Look past the streaky and weird.  Trust for the depth and color and vibrancy.

Jesus is into the business of turning stuff from the junk store into a work of imperfect beauty.

Again?!

Less than two months ago I blogged about missing a field trip with Son #2 because Jake threw up over night.  I said "I could choose to cry and complain and be sad.  And I'm not gonna lie, I did those 3 things."

I could write the same blog post again today. 

You see, for weeks Wanda and I have been planning to go to the beach for the day with our kids.  Two moms, nine kids (cuz Wanda was leaving one with a babysitter).

So.Excited.

I was up at 4:30, drinking my coffee in bed then showering then posting a picture of my beach reading material (clearly, you all need to know what I'm doing on the beach) then waking up kids.  When I woke Jake up he said "I don't feel really good."  I thought he just meant he was tired.  He climbed up in my bed and then said it again.  And then he gagged.  And I picked him up and ran to the bathroom where he threw up.

Turns out he had also thrown up overnight but didn't tell me.  So I also had a pile of hours old barf to clean out of his carpet.

Yippee.

I called Wanda and cried.  She was super sweet and assured me it's fine, we'll find another day to go.  Out loud I agreed but inside I threw a temper tantrum that would make any two year old proud.

NOOOOOO!!!!  I WANT TO GO TO THE BEACH TODAY!!  I DON'T WANT TO STAY HOME WITH FOUR DISAPPOINTED KIDS.  I WANT WHAT I WANT.  THIS IS SO STUPID.  I AM ANGRY.  I HATE CRYING THESE STUPID ANGRY TEARS.

My internal temper tantrum may have also used some words that a two year old shouldn't know and that I won't write in this blog post.

Then I thought about all the things I could get done at home.  How I haven't been home enough.  How there are piles to sort thru.  How there are clothes to go thru.  How there are weeds to pull.  How there are rooms to clean.

Just like last time Jake was sick.

And so I thought, 'Am I so dumb and terrible at managing my time that God has to allow my poor little boy to be sick just so I slow down?'

That's an awful thought.  It comes with a huge dose of condemnation.  Surely there is something Jesus wants to teach me today.  But I don't think he wants me to beat myself up and wallow in thoughts of my stupidity.

Since I was already up, showered, and dressed I took my Bible and Jesus Calling out to the front porch.

So restful.  So beautiful.  So peaceful.  

The complete opposite of the churning grossness inside me.

I read today's Jesus Calling.  It was about fear.  It didn't really feel applicable so I read tomorrow's.

First line:  "Let Me help you get through this day."

Ok, Jesus, you've got my attention.

"You will get thru this day one way or the other.  One way is to moan and groan, stumbling along with shuffling feet."

Nailed it.  That's exactly how I'm feeling.

"This will get you to the end of the day eventually, but there is a better way."

The two year old rears her ugly head.  "I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE BETTER WAY.  GEEZ.  I WANT TO GO TO THE BEACH.  I WANNA GO RIGHT NOW.  THIS IS SOOOOO LAME."

"You can choose to walk with Me along the path of peace, leaning on Me as much as you need."

Will you carry me?  Kicking and screaming?

"There will be difficulties along the way, but you can face them confidently in My strength."

Ok, whatever.

"Thank me for each problem you encounter, and watch to see how I transform trials into blessings."

Arms crossed, eyes rolling.  FINE.

And then I read the scripture.  

1 Corinthians 10:10 "And do not grumble, as some of them did - and were killed by the destroying angel."

Instant laughter.  Ok, Jesus, you got me to smile!

While I'm not sure this verse was used in context, it sure got my attention.  I don't actually want to be a whiny temper tantrum throwing two year old.

This day is a gift.  It's not gonna go the way I thought it would.  I won't experience watching my kids play in the sand, chatting and laughing with Wanda,  hearing the peaceful ebb and flow of the waves.  I'm disappointed about that and that's ok.  It's ok to be disappointed.

But what matters is how I live today thru that disappointment.  

I can choose to moan and groan and drag my feet.

Or I can ask Jesus to help me think of some creative fun things to do with my kiddos at home.

Check on me at the end of the day to see what I came up with.

And to make sure the destroying angel didn't get me.

Deep, Free, Wild

May 11th.  That was when my last blog post happened.  I have so much I want to write but I'm unsure on if I can untangle the ball of yarn that is my thoughts.  Maybe, first, the good things.

I've been having a ton of fun lately.  Most of it is taking place in kitchens.  Not just mine either.

A few weeks ago I went to Wanda's house for a hair cut.  And we also did this:

You're looking at pulled pork nachos.  And that fork?  Just a prop.  We picked these babies up with our bare hands and bit into heaven.  The pork juice ran down our wrists towards our elbows and we grinned and bit deeper.  We made a beautiful and delicious mess together.  Wanda is some of my favorite people.

Another fun day was with the lovely Michelle.  I call her "the other Wanda".  She moved into my neighborhood a year and half ago and moved herself and her family right into my heart.  We took ourselves to the spa for a combined birthday celebration last month.

We each got a facial, massage, pedi, mani, and lunch.  Bernard's on Brighton.  Look it up.  Try it out.  You won't be sorry.

The massage bed was heated.  I'm pretty sure laying in there is what it feels like to be in the womb.  I felt warm and safe and protected.  I didn't want to leave.  But I did.  To walk down the hall to the facial room.

The facial lady (what is the proper terminology?  I have no idea.) was lovely as well even tho she felt the need to remark about my dry skin.

Facial Lady:  "What cleanser are you using?"

Me: "Uh, none."

Facial Lady:  dead silence

She slathered my face with a moisturizer laced with blueberry, cinnamon, and paprika.  I wanted to lick it.  While she was working she said something about how to take care of my skin.  I wasn't really listening.  Here's the naked truth:  I wasn't there for my skin health.  I was there because I love when people touch my face.  Just shut up and touch me.

Judge me however you will.

Next we had our mani/pedis.

This woman was so sweet.  And encouraging.  And interested in what I had to say.  And she loves Jesus.  And she rubbed my feet.  She has my heart forever.

Then it was lunch time.  I told Michelle how all day I felt like a bull in a china shop.  There is nothing dainty or quiet about me and here I was in this calm, quiet, luxurious spa.

And yet, no matter how out of place I felt, I would go back in a heartbeat.  But I would probably skip the mani this time.  Because 24 hours later, 9 out of 10 fingernails were chipped.  I use my hands always.

I did this wild and crazy thing a week ago called a Recipe Tasting. Here's what it boils down to:  my culinary genius is wasted on the people I live with and feed on a regular basis.  And my taste buds get bored.  So I chose 20 recipes that sounded delicious to me without any regard whatsoever to what my people like.  And then I invited 400 people to my house to taste the recipes with me.

No, that is not a typo.  I literally invited 400 people.  Mostly because I knew most of them wouldn't come but also because I subscribe wholeheartedly to the idea of Go Big or Go Home.  And also because I jump first and then think about it.  People kept asking me how I was going to do it.

"Mmm, I dont' know yet but it'll get done," was my standard response.  And it did.  And I only freaked out a little.  And I had a TON of crazy awesome help.  My dear bosses and some coworkers came early to help and stayed late to clean up.  To call them my bosses and coworkers feels wrong though.  These dear sweet human beings are my friends.  I love them to the ends of the earth and back again.

There were triumphs:

And there were dismal failures and messes.  Lots of messes.

It felt a lot like life.  How sometimes you have to make a mess and make mistakes and sometimes start completely over to get a beautiful end result.

But sometimes your hard work pays off and your finished product looks just like the picture.  It takes blood, sweat, and tears.  It takes help from your amazing friends.  You might be up late cooking and then up early cooking.  But in the end, it's worth it.  You watch all the cars flood up your driveway.  You see the little piles of people in your front yard.  You hear later, "Oh, I met so and so at your house."  You see a wild band of kids running crazy on the swing set.  You hug a ton of people and receive their compliments with a nod and smile.  You go to bed exhausted but with a smile that you just can't stop.

Recipe Tastings are hard work but they can turn out beautifully.

Life is hard work but it can turn out beautifully.

And then today.  My dear Crysti invited me for coffee this morning.  So I took some leftover stuffed pepper filling along and made us scrambled eggs.  Crysti sat at her island, per my instructions, and chatted with me while I used her stove, her pan, her spatula.  I dug thru her fridge and her cupboards.  And I thought, I think this makes Jesus happy.  I could feel his smile as I made myself at home in someone else's kitchen.

We talked, we laughed, we sipped, we chewed.  And our time together ended too quickly.

But I was privileged enough to get to make another mess, in another kitchen (this time my own), with someone else that I love.

My brother and I can rock the kitchen scene together.  I made shortcake while he, unwillingly, cleaned strawberries.  I made pasta with chorizo and broccoli rabe while he, willingly this time, made a salad with homemade dressing.  The ingredient list was extensive and one time he texted me the recipe which came thru to my phone in 13 messages.

13.

Nell sat at the island and chatted with us while we cooked.  Really, there is nothing I love more than sharing kitchen space with willing participants, whether they are spinning salads or spinning stories.

My cup runneth over today.

Which brings me to the not so good things.

I turned 33 two months ago.  Do you know what I always think when I hear of someone turning 33?  33 years was all the time Jesus got on earth.  If I was Jesus, this would be it.  If this was it for me, what kind of legacy would I leave?

I've been thinking about the fragility of life.  Which can be good and bad.  It makes you appreciate the small things.  The smell of honeysuckle.  The tight hugs from your babies.  The sound of your mom's laughter.  The mess you make in your kitchen with your friends late into the night.  The way you meet your husband's eyes across the room and know what he's thinking.

But sometimes the fragility of life feels crushing.  In the past several weeks I've visited my nephew in the hospital during his week long stay after his appendix burst.  My friend told me her mom's been diagnosed with cancer.  Someone else's baby needed open heart surgery.  I saw photos on Facebook of a little boy with cancer, robbed of his hair by chemo, curled up, trying to sleep thru the pain.  An older gentleman that I know fell and broke his neck.  I heard of a husband who died unexpectedly.

My family is whole and healthy.  And sometimes I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It's not a good place to be.  Sirens make me nervous in the afternoons when I know Larry is driving home.  Small bumps or lumps on my kids make my imagination kick into overdrive.  A strange feeling in my chest makes me wonder if my heart is working right.

All those bad things that happened to other people last month?  There is absolutely no reason why they couldn't happen to me.  It makes me want to shut down my heart and stop loving.  Loving people hurts.  That's the real and the raw of right now for me.

I am mostly having so much fun and at the same time I am aching with the heartache other people are facing.  And I am worrying about when it will be time for my heartache.  But maybe it will never be my time.  But there is no guarantee of that.

And the circle continues.  And I know that this is not how Jesus wants me to live.  He doesn't call me to hold my breath and wait for the other shoe to drop.

He calls me to abundant life.

The thief comes to steal and kill and destroy.

My peace.  My joy.  My trust.  Satan would take it all.

But Jesus.  He says, go make a mess in your kitchen.  Invite 400 people to come over.  Take leftovers to your friends.

Love deeply.  Give freely.  Trust wildly.

Let your cup run over.